Endorsements of the Doomed
by JoeMerl
Summary: Obama is an alien, Red is running against Purple, and Dib endorses Kucinich! All this and more in this bizarre collection of 2008 U.S. presidential election stories. Non-partisan humor. Final chapter: Inauguration Day! With robots.
1. Endorsements of the Doomed

Er...I should have taken the time to post this months ago...Kooky-Nick isn't even in the race. Must ... post ... while ... still ... relevant.

Oh, hello. Welcome to my story. This is going to be a short-story collection of parodies based on the current U.S. Presidential election, with an _Invader Zim_ theme. Promises to be interesting, eh? :-) The author of this story wishes for this to be fun and more-or-less non-partisan, in no small part because he argues about politics enough with close family that he does not need it interfering with his fun time. Along that vein he requests any reviewers not to do politically-based flames upon himself or one another. :-)

How long this story will be, I cannot say; it depends on the news and my inspiration. But I hope you enjoy!

(P.S.: For those interested, my other fic, "Dib in the PITS," will update soon. I promise.)

(P.P.S.: If you don't understand this first chapter, just search Youtube for "Kucinich UFO," and you should get the necessary info.)

* * *

Chapter One  
Endorsements of the Doomed

Static…static…then, suddenly, Dib appeared on the little screen, staring at me.

"Okay, Keef, is the camera working?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so—how do ya tell?"

"Is the little green light on?"

"No, it's—wait, there it goes!"

"Okay, and did you remember to _take the lens cap off this time?"_

"Yeah."

"Okay, good." Dib took a seat at his desk in the empty classroom, straightening out his trench coat and shirt. He ran a comb futilely through his hair, which flattened for a moment and then sprang back up into its usual shape, spikey and cool-looking, as Dib stowed the comb away. He sat up straight and put his hands folded together in front of him on the desk, smiling broadly. Dib doesn't smile enough, I think; he looks much better happy. "Okay, now just press the green button to start the recording."

"Yeah, okay. Hey Dib?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe after we do this, we can go out for ice cream! And then you can come spend the night at my house, and we can— "

"Keef?" Dib said, speaking out of the corner of his mouth, which was still spread into the happy, toothy grin he rarely showed.

"Yeah?"

"Just shut up and just press the green button." His happy face twitched a little as he spoke.

"Oh, okay…uh, get ready…okay, now!"

Dib quickly returned his face to its original grin. He paused for a moment, letting the camera have a moment to take him in, then began.

"Hello. My name is Dib Membrane, and I would like to talk to you today about Congressman Dennis Kucinich. Congressman Kucinich has a long and distinguished career serving our country, and continues to provide open-minded and unique perspectives that no other administration can supply. Therefore, I would like to officially endorse Congressman Kucinich in his run to become our next Presidentman. I feel— "

"Dib, what stupid thing are you doing _now?"_

Dib jumped; I quickly swung around, camera still in my arms, and watched as three new figures came into the shot, two scowling, the third grinning joyously.

"Gaz! GIR! _ZIM!"_ I cried. More friends to play with!

"Keef, keep the camera straight!" Dib barked, then turned back to the others. "You three get out of here! You're ruining my video!"

"Okay, first of all, our last name isn't Membrane, even though everyone thinks it is," Gaz began. "And secondly, what are you _doing?"_ she repeated, squinting up at Dib. Gaz doesn't open her eyes much, which is a shame, they're such a pretty shade of amber brown. She had her Game Slave in her hand, like always (she really likes video games, and she's really good at them too), but she had paused it now and was glaring up at her brother.

"I'm making an endorsement video for the election! Now get out of here— Keef, turn off the camera, we need to restart— "

"You're endorsing _Kucinich?"_

"What's wrong with Kooky-Nick?" I wondered.

Dib turned to glare at me. "_Kucinich."_

"What's wrong is that he dropped out of the race _months_ ago," Gaz said in exasperation. "And he never even had a chance when he _was_ running."

"Well— I'm trying to push for a kind of write-in thing, if he gets enough votes— "

"And why are you supporting him anyway?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "This is about that _alien _thing again, isn't it?"

"Hey, alien invaders are the most pressing issue facing the planet right now, and at least _he's_ brave enough to stand up and admit that we have a problem!" Dib said, pounding his fist passionately on the desk. "We _need_ a candidate with that kind of conviction, to face the _problem_" he jabbed a finger angrily at Zim "rather than ignoring it like everybody else!"

"Ha!" Zim laughed, folding his arms. "As if that pitiful _hyuman_ could _hope_ to stand up to the mighty mightiness that is the Amazing ZIM! What's he gonna do— Department of Peace me to death?!"

Zim laughed heartily. I didn't really get the joke, but I began to chuckle under my breath too, until Dib shot me a dirty look. I quickly stifled my laughter, and Dib went back to glaring at Zim. Those two don't like each other that much, which is a real shame, because they could have made such good friends, they have so much in common and everything. Doesn't it stink when things like politics or suspicions of plans to conquer humanity get in the way of a perfectly good friendship? But I was still hoping that I could make them be friends, so that the three of us could be bestest friends forever, and move into an apartment together and get jobs fixing copying machines and--

Dib jumped from his chair, glaring at Zim and breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Stay out of this, Zim! You're an alien! Aliens don't get to vote! And who would you be supporting anyway," Dib asked, crossing his arms over his chest, "the American Nazi Party or something?"

"Actually, I'm endorsing Obama," Zim said airily, polishing his sharp, gloved fingers on his shirt.

"Yeah, I fig— wait, _Obama?_" Dib raised an eyebrow, his head falling to one side. "As in _Barack Obama?_ What would _you_ be supporting _him_ for?"

Zim bent down and began to rub his hands together, a broad, happy, twitchy smile spreading over his face. (Zim looks so nice when he's happy, it's a shame he doesn't smile like that more.) "Because, foolish Dib-stink, with all his talk of _peace _and_ change _and _hope,_ he is the perfect hyuman to lead this planet right into my hands! He will weaken this planet's already _PITIFUL_ defenses, and when the Tallest come with the Armada, Earth will be ours for the taking!"

Zim threw back his head and laughed again, a nice, cheery sound that made my heart swell, even as it made Dib's face harden.

"But doesn't Obama have a plan to drastically _expand_ the military?" Gaz asked apathetically, her attention now immersed again in her Game Slave.

"Mwa-ha-ha— what?" Zim said, his jolliness cut off abruptly.

"Yeah. And he's also the one who's made all those big threats to invade half the countries we're suppose to be allies with, so I don't think fighting an invading alien army is going to be much of a moral quandary for him."

I was hurt to see that Zim's happiness quickly vanished; instead his eyes had gone a bit wide and jumpy, and his healthy green complexion began to pale to one of worry. He shot a look at Dib and smiled nervously. "Hmm…uh, maybe Kooky-Nick isn't so bad an idea after all…"

"It's Kucinich!"

"I like the crazy guy!" GIR called out suddenly, his head suddenly spinning around on his body. (Zim must be really good with dogs, because GIR can do all kinds of really neat tricks like that.)

"You mean Kucinich?" Gaz said, as her game beeped out a high score.

"No, the _taaaall_ crazy guy."

"Ron Paul?"

"I like Ron Paul! He gonna give me _tacos!"_ Gir yelled, and suddenly a taco shot out of the top of his head and fell into his hand. He began to chomp on it happily. Like I said, he knows some really cool tricks.

"Hmm, I don't remember him giving that campaign promise. Though knowing him I wouldn't be surprised," Dib said, rolling his eyes.

"What are all you horrible children doing here?"

"Agh!" everybody yelled, jumping— I spun the camera around again to see Ms. Bitters sitting at her desk, glaring at us through her glasses, apparently just having woken up.

"Ms. Bitters!" Dib cried, startled. "When did you come in here?"

"I'm always here," she said dryly, bending over in a very snakelike way. Rumor is she has no bones. I once tried to convince her she should become an acrobat and join the circus, but she didn't take to the idea. "Now what are all you horrible children doing here after skool hours? Something horrible, no doubt?"

"We're talking about our political candidates!" I said, smiling up at her. "Zim and Dib want that Kooky-Nick guy, and GIR over there wants Ron Paul."

"Taco man!"

"Kucinich. KU! CIN! ICH!"

"Yes, Kooky-Nick is clearly the best choice," Zim was saying now, using his smartest voice and ignoring Dib's panting rage. "With his plans to cut Earth military spending and all, he would make an _excellent_ presidentman, and--"

"You don't want the best presidentman! You're just voting for Kucinich because you want to enslave the Earth!" Dib cried, pointing an accusing finger at Zim.

"Yeah, well, _you're_ only voting for him because you want to _save_ the Earth. How is that fair, hmm?" Zim retorted, leaning forward to glare.

"I'm voting for Hillary Clinton," Ms. Bitters said brightly, leaning backwards and tenting her fingers.

Everybody was silent for a moment. Finally Dib said, "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all."

"Family has to stick together," Ms. Bitters said, nodding sagely.

"I like McCain!" I piped in, enjoying the conversation. "My dad says he's a war hero and— "

"Shut up, Keef!" everyone yelled together, taking me somewhat aback.

"Quit trying to turn this into some kind of evil scheme, Zim!" Dib cried, pushing Zim backwards roughly with both hands.

"Yeah, well, why don't you try and _make_ me, election-pig!" Zim shot back, pushing Dib.

"Why don't you both shut up?" Gaz muttered. "I'm trying to play my game."

"Presidential elections are about doing what's good for the country, not about— "

"Nothing could be better for this country than to be ruled by the awesomeness of ZIM!"

"You're just trying to subvert the whole democratic process!"

"I said _shut up,"_ Gaz growled, her eyes narrowing even tighter towards her Game Slave. She can get a bit grumpy when people make noises during her game. That's how I got in the hospital the first two times.

"Ha! Pitiful hyuman democracy! Your planet is doomed to fall, choosing your most important leaders based on something as stupid as the opinions of a bunch of ignorant pig-worms, rather than on the basis of _height!"_

Dib let out a harsh laugh. "_You're_ arguing for the height system? It doesn't matter who we elect, then, you'll never rule the Earth. You're even shorter than Kucinich!"

"Why you little— "

Zim dived at Dib, his clawlike hands outstretched; Dib's eyes went wide as he realized he had pushed the argument too far. He stumbled backwards and fell, and Zim landed on top of him, and the two of them began a violent wrestling match on the floor, each trying to pin the other down and clench his fingers around his opponent's throat.

"Guys, don't fight!" I cried, trying to move into the fray to separate them, still watching them out of the lens of the camera. "Come on, why don't you— "

"_Agh!_"

Dib seemed to have pulled off all of Zim's hair in one big clump; Zim let out a cry of pain (or was it fright?) and quickly threw his hands over his head (what was that sticking out between two of his fingers?), as Dib let the hair fly through the air. It soared across the room and hit Gaz in the face. She fell backwards, her Game Slave flying out of her hand. It clattered to the floor and smashed.

"Uh-oh," I muttered, the camera shaking in my hands.

Gaz looked up, her eyes wide again, no longer pretty but very angry. Zim and Dib had both stopped fighting; they were frozen, one of Zim's hands covering his head and the other around Dib's neck, Dib's hand balled into a fist, but both staring at Gaz with wide eyes. She let out a growl and leapt.

"_My GAME!"_

She flew on top of both of them and the struggle resumed, with Zim and Dib both screaming. I hopped from one foot to the other, the camera's view shaking from side to side. "Come on, guys, don't fight. I— "

Just then Dib went flying out from the pile, having been thrown by Gaz. I let out a yelp as Dib hit me, the camera flying out of my hands. Everything turned back into static.

. . . . .

The static flashed across the TV screen in Ms. Bitters' class, then suddenly turned to black. Red, white and blue letters appeared over the black, with Zita's voice accompanying.

"DO YOU WANT ANY OF _THESE _WEIRDOES CHOOSING _YOUR_ NEXT PRESIDENTMAN? NO? THEN VOTE FOR RALPH NADER, A CANDIDATE YOU CAN TRUST! Paid for by Skoolchildren for Nader 2008."

"Well," I said, leaning over to a heavily-bruised and depressed-looking Dib, who was slumping in his desk with his head in the hand of the arm that wasn't broken "at least _someone_ wanted our video."

He sighed. "Shut up, Keef," he muttered, dropping his head onto his desk.

* * *

Ha ha…but seriously. Don't vote for Nader. Nader sucks. Although he can be good for sucking votes away from other candidates…


	2. Their Names Are Vaguely Similar

Hello! Back for another bizarre little _Invader Zim_ election-based story. Once again I would like to add that this is not really meant to be politically motivated; I mean, really, if I wanted to make fun of these people I could come up with more legitimate arguments than these, eh? ;-) Some might note that I tend to pick on the Democrats, but...well...what _IZ_ type of things can you do with McCain?

* * *

Chapter Two  
Their Names _Are_ Vaguely Similar...

"Thank you and good night."

The crowd cheered wildly as the candidate raised his hands, smiling and waving at his thousands of supporters. Tiny red, white and blue flags waved in the huge chamber as loud cries and applause resounded off the banner-laden stone walls. The man took a few moments to drink up the approval of the crowd, then turned and walked offstage, even as his many supporters cried out for more. With a final wave, he disappeared behind the curtain and vanished.

Just off the stage stood two men, waiting for the beloved politician; a large, silent Secret Service agent and a younger, pale and pudgy man with glasses, the latter carrying a collection of papers on a clipboard. "Excellent speech, Mr. Obama! Excellent!"

"Thank you, William," Barack Obama said, flashing his winning smile. "Did you really like it?"

"Oh, yes sir," the other man gushed eagerly, as the two walked through a door into a long hallway where people milled busily around; several people passed the candidate papers or autograph books to sign, which he did with an expert yet offhanded skill. "It was an amazing speech, Senator, really amazing. So inspiring, so articulate. As usual," he added, with a sheepish grin.

Obama gave a slight laugh. "Thank you," he said, handing an autograph book back to a woman who had somehow managed to sneak in from outside; a security guard appeared quickly to escort her away. More people came forth to ask him questions. "Oh, excuse me--sorry, I need to get to my dressing room--yes--"

The crowd around him thinned, and William and the Secret Service agent somehow managed to keep up as Obama walked easily through the group. "Really, sir," the young man continued, "I have to say--you have such an amazing way with words. Well, you heard the way the crowd was cheering...it's like...like..." He struggled to find a way to properly express the ecstatic experience that was listening to this godlike man speak. "Like people just respond so well to everything you say. Like everything you say, people can just take it in perfectly, you're every idea...it just comes off so brilliantly! It's just...hypnotic."

Obama simply smiled again. "Thank you. Oh--excuse me, this is my room. I need to get ready for my next appointment..."

"Oh, yes, of course, Senator," William said, grinning sheepishly again. Obama opened the door and entered; the Secret Service agent slipped in behind him.

The room was spacious but mostly empty, with just a few pieces of furniture and a mirror against the wall. Obama walked over to it first, while his Secret Service stood silently against the wall behind him.

Obama gazed into the mirror for a moment, smiling and examining his handsome face, then turned and looked toward the security man's reflection; he gazed at him as well, and Obama's lip curled into a smile. "Hypnotic, he called it...imagine that..."

For one brief moment, his eyes seemed to flash in the mirror, reflecting off the glass into the room. Obama straightened, leaned back and began to laugh, tenting his fingers maniacally; and after a moment the laugh did not sound like his usual laugh, but became higher, more feminine, and accented, almost British. After another moment his figure began to blur; and at the same moment the Secret Service agent, too, began to shimmer, and both became replaced by figures very different than the ones they had been mere moments before--

Tak cackled, rubbing her gloved hands together, her purple eyes flashing with their hypnotizing glow, with her SIR unit MiMi standing placidly behind her, standing as guard over her alien mistress.

* * *

Bar-ACK...Tuh-AK...I mean, come on, what with his amazing ability to influence people, this isn't completely implausible, is it? Is it? Huh? Huh? And I have no idea if political candidates have dressing rooms, but it seems like they would have something like that,

Now, this is the last story I've been able to think of so far for this...I'm going to label this fic as "Complete," but I'm totally open to continuing. If I can come up with any brilliant new ideas, or someone PMs me with something interesting, I might continue on. So, goodbye and thanks for reading, but hopefully I'll see you again!

In the meantime, though, I suggest you go and read my other _IZ _story, "Dib in the PITS." Go. Do it now! And be on the lookout for other stories of mine. And please leave reviews, of course. I'm so needy. 8-/


	3. Loser's Lament

YES! I have decided to update this story again, and I have another chapter idea after this one, so perhaps I can keep this story going until the actual election. I apologize in advance for the profanity in this chapter; I just found the idea of that particular person saying that particular word really, really funny.

I invite readers to leave reviews, of course, and also to read any of my other _Invader Zim _stories. Since my last update on this story I have been continuing my "Dib in the PITS" story, and have written three different one-shots: "A Weekend at EARL's," "A Challenge" and "Explodies!" Feel free to check them out.

* * *

Chapter Three  
Loser's Lament

"In here! In here!"

It was a seedy-looking bar, in a building that looked ready to crumble in right over their heads if someone slammed the door too hard. My stupid big-headed brother rushed inside, not bothering to stop and notice any of this; and while I thought it probably better to avoid that kind of place, under the circumstances the idiot may have had a point.

"I'm coming to get you, Dib!" Zim screamed as he rounded the corner. Huge explosions blew apart the street as his battle-droid blasted two of its laser cannons, but he wasn't in a position where he could see us. I quickly slipped inside the bar just as the hem of Dib's stupid trench coat vanished from view. I slammed the door shut behind me and ducked down quickly, moving over with Dib towards the window.

Dib cautiously raised his head up enough to see outside; I could hear the sounds of Zim's robot stomping around out there. "Okay...I don't think he saw us come in here," Dib said, sounding relieved. "He's just wandering up and down the street...oh, but he's not leaving!" he said in annoyance, ducking down and turning to face me.

I gave a withering sigh. "He'll leave eventually." I turned and walked off. "I'm going to get a table."

"What? Why?!"

"Because I'm hungry? Thanks to you and your little fight with Zim, I didn't get dinner."

"But--" Dib looked around, seeming to realize where we were for the first time. "This place is a bar, Gaz! We're not even supposed to be in here, and it's not like we can pass for twenty-one, if somebody catches us--"

I looked up at Dib, still walking towards the nearest booth. He had that worried look on his face; you know, that really stupid, annoying one. Behind his gargantuan head, I could see the bartender, wiping a rag on the counter so mindlessly that he didn't even notice as his hand constantly bumped into the head of an unconscious hobo passed out over the bar.

"Dib, these people wouldn't care if we _did _order booze, I doubt they'll care if I get French fries and a soda. Now come on."

I hopped up into the nearest seat; Dib, looking reluctant, followed suit. "We really shouldn't be here," he said nervously. "If Dad finds out--"

A sudden explosion sounded from outside, and glancing towards the window I could see that Zim had just exploded a fire hydrant, and was now freaking out as it sprayed him with water, burning his horrible green skin. I smirked; apparently his species had never invented the windshield. If only somebody in this or any of the other buildings had bothered to glance outside...but of course they wouldn't. They never did. "We're stuck here," I said simply, turning back to Dib and picking up a menu. "Get used to it. And give me 6.50."

Scowling, Dib reached into his pocket and began to count out some money. "Here," he said, looking up and throwing me a collection of crumpled bills. "Seven bucks is all I have on me, though, so if you want anything else you're--agh! Down, down!"

Dib suddenly grabbed my head and pushed it down against the table; my eyes widened at his sheer audacity, and a second late Dib was grabbing his own gigantic head in pain. "What do you think you're doing?!" I snarled.

"It's my teacher--look away, look away!"

He snatched up the menu and opened it as though reading, hiding his face from view. I slid slightly down in my chair as two women walked by. Dib was right; one of them was unmistakably his creepy teacher, Ms. Bitters, gliding by in her dark dress, a snarl on her antediluvian face. She had one arm around a second woman, who appeared to be crying softly; her head was bowed, keeping me from being able to see her clearly. The second woman stumbled and swayed as she walked; I had the feeling Ms. Bitters' hand was as much to keep her walking in a straight line as it was to console her.

Ms. Bitters and her friend walked by without noticing us and sat down in the booth next to ours. Dib peeked out from behind his menu, looking distinctly uncomfortable; I could see the top of Ms. Bitters head right over the back of his seat. He eased down in his chair like me, motioning to me with a finger over his lips.

Yeah, I thought, rolling my eyes, like I was going to just call her over. Even I had to admit that woman was scary.

"There, there, sis," I heard Ms. Bitters say at the next table; her head vanished from view, as if she were bending down over the woman I could hear crying. "It's not so bad."

The second woman cried a bit louder. "But what am I gonna do, Lushille?" she asked. From the slur of her voice I could tell that she was less than sober. "I've been waiting for...yearsh, Lushe...and now it'sh all over."

"It's not so bad," Ms. Bitters repeated. She seemed to be trying to sound comforting, but clearly had little practice in it. "So you didn't get that promotion you wanted. Big deal."

"'Big deal?'" the second woman said, voicing rising a bit hysterically. "But I've been--hic!--waiting--planning--working for--hic!--yearsh, Lushille. And now..._he's_got the job inshtead." She spat suddenly, and I saw her hand appear around Dib's seat in a dramatic gesture.

"Well, you might not get the top job, but there's that other promotion," Ms. Bitters said in a tone somewhere between offhanded and dismissive. "And you're still not exactly as bad off as _me,_ you know...at least you get paid _well_ for spending your time in a room full of doomed idiots."

The second woman began crying again. Ms. Bitters bent down once more. "Besides, you don't even know if he'll win," she said, now clearly dismissive. "Just because you're out of the running...maybe he'll lose to that that other fool, the old one."

"HA!" the second woman cried suddenly; Dib and I both jumped. "Yeah, right...I almosht wish he would win, just so _he_doeshn't...yearsh I've been planning this, Lushe, _yearsh!_ And then--and then, some uppity _ni--er_" Dib and I both jumped again, eyes going wide "comesh and everybody jusht goes ga-ga over him! I remember when _I_ushed to be everybody's favorite, but now! Nope, nobody remembersh me...nobody caresh anymore..."

She broke down crying again. Ms. Bitters sighed. "Oh, sis...I promise you'll always have at least one supporter."

A sniffle. "Thanksh, Lushe."

There was a long pause. Then Ms. Bitters said, "Come on, now. I'm going to cheer you up. We're going clubbing. We'll go back to your headquarters, change, and then go out and get you laid!"

Another sniffle. "But...Bill..."

"Okay, forget about that idiot. Come on, up...we're going to find you a _real _man."

The two rose; we quickly vanished again as Ms. Bitters and her sister walked by, the second woman's face again hidden from view. Only when we'd heard them walk out the door did we sit back up, looking at each other askance. "Well," Dib said awkwardly, "that was one of the most disturbing conversations I've ever heard."

"Yeah."

"Excuse me."

I looked up. A tall, dark-haired man with a suit and sunglasses was standing over us. I recognized him as that stupid paranormal investigator that Dib sometimes grumbled about.

"Have either of you seen my wife?" he asked, adjusting his sunglasses to peer down at us. "I heard that she was here with her sister?"

Dib and I looked at each other. "Uh..."

"Well..."

...What? What Bill did _you_ think she was talking about?

* * *

Coming soon, Chapter Four: "Tall Tales." Feel free to speculate on that. :-)


	4. Tall Tales

Hmm. Attempts at shock laughs equals few reviews. Noted for later.

Okay! I'm finally updating this after two months. Good for me. I've gotten lazy--it took me forever to look up what I needed at Snopes(dot)com for this chapter, and once I did, I found it less helpful than anticipated. Anyway, here's the new chapter, and I think I'll update within a day or two with Chapter Five, which is planned but as yet untitled. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

(Also, a note: After my little brother heard about Chapter Two of this story, he angrily told me that the ending twist had been _his_ idea, and that I had stolen the idea without giving him credit. I _do_ remember the idea first coming up in a very weird _Invader Zim_ game I was playing with him, but I could have sworn I was the one who came up with it. In any event, that chapter is retroactively dedicated to my brother Anthony for whatever level of help he had in making it. And to my Obama-obsessed older brother who I subtly made fun of through Barack Obama's assistant. Not that I'm telling him that.)

* * *

Chapter Four  
Tall Tales

"Hello! And welcome to _Irken News Tonite_. I'm Cyclopian Announcement Drone Alpha-One.

"Our top story tonight--after last week's stunning announcement that reigning Almighty Tallests Red and Purple have decided to end their co-rulership, the two are now vying fiercely to best each other in the first-ever Tallest Election next month. The political landscape was rocked today with new reports that Tallest Purple may actually be a member of the radical terrorist group known as the Resisty. We now turn to Anti-Resisty czar Invader Larb for his opinion..."

"_What?!_"

The remote flew across the room and smashed into the floating screen, bursting through the weird one-eye cyborg Irken's face and sending the screen flying to the floor. Almighty Tallest Purple looked furious.

"_Me? _A member of the Resisty?! That's just--_stupid!_" Purple screamed, throwing up his arms. "Who does Red thinks he's going to fool with that?"

Purple's campaign manager--a purple-eyed female who's name was "Sack," or something like that, he could never remember--cleared her throat and spoke in her crisp accented voice. "Unfortunately, my Tallest, he _does _seem to be fooling quite a few Irkens. This theory is receiving major attention on the Irkenet, and your poll numbers are dropping quickly."

"_What?!_ You've got to be kidding me! What are we going to do?!"

Tak grinned her wickedest grin. "We need to fight back with a lie of our own, of course."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"This just in! We have breaking news tonight that Almighty Tallest Red, current candidate to retain the post of Almighty Tallest, may _not_ actually be eligible to be Tallest at all!"

"_Huh?!_"

"According to the Irken Supreme Code of Legalliness, quote, 'The position of Almighty Tallest is _ipso facto_given to whosoever is the tallest Irken currently alive at any given time.' However, we are now receiving reports that Almighty Tallest Red may not actually have been born on Irk, and thus, may not technically count as an 'Irken.' We now turn to Legalist Floozgi, official advisor to the Tallests on legal matters. Now, Floozgi..."

"_WHAT?!_" Red demanded, staring at the screen in shock. "That doesn't even make _sense! _All Irkens are manufactured on Irk, how could I have been born anywhere else?!"

"It is a _LIE!_" screamed Red's campaign manager--Zim, who had flown all the way from his exile on Earth in the hopes of getting this job. (Red had to remember to banish his hiring staff for _that_ little blunder.) "Tallest Purple and _Tak_ are telling these--horrible _smelly_ lies about you to try to tilt the election! Oh, those _fiends_!"

"Er," Red growled. He knew Zim was right--for once. "We need to strike back, then." He glaring at the cyclopic news drone on the screen. He spun around suddenly. "Zim! Think of the most horrible lie about Purple that you can imagine, right off the top of your head!"

"Uh--that he is actually a--a Slor-beast wearing an Irken mask!"

"...Okay, never mind, then." Red turned around again, fingers on his chin. "What can we say about Pur..." A wicked smile spread across his face. "Ah..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"A new Tallest election controversy--we have received word that while visiting Devastis, Tallest Purple passed up the opportunity to visit Irken soldiers recently injured in the Resisty attack on Vort."

"Oh, not _this,_" Purple grumbled, putting his head in his hand.

"According to reports, he did this for no other reason than to spend six straight hours in the food court eating nachos. We have with us Soldier Grak, who was there at the time."

"It's true," the Irken soldier said, nodding his head; most of his body and half of his face was still bandaged and in slings. "I heard the Tallest was there, so I came out of my room in the infirmary, hoping to meet him--he shoved me down a flight of stairs and yelled that I was in the way of the food court." He looked down at the ground sadly. "It hurt."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?!" Purple yelled, motioning to the screen with a look of disbelief on his face. "He was standing in the way of the nachos! And I mean, most of those bones were already broken anyway."

Tak cleared her throat. "Yes, of course, my Tallest," she muttered, inwardly wishing that she had been hired by Tallest Red's campaign instead; Zim had somehow beaten her there. "But you must realize that any gaffe such as that is likely to come back to haunt you at election time. You must learn to be more cautious."

Purple grunted, crossing his arms. He looked like an overgrown, petulant smeet.

"In the meantime, we have to find a way to fix this by lowering the public's opinion of Red," Tak added.

"How do we do that? As it is he already got the Control Brains to disprove the last rumor we started."

"Well, we'll just have to start a new rumor, then," she said, rubbing her hands together, purple eyes glittering wickedly. "Something nice and horrible..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_'Tallest Red Fathers Eggs With a Vortian?!_'"

Red stared at the screen in horror, mouthing hanging open. "Purple, you lousy little--"

"Ew! _That's disgusting_!" Zim said, sticking out his tongue. He paused. "...And not true, right?"

"Zim, practically our entire species is sterile. Do you really think I could have mated with a _Vortian_and fathered a clutchful of eggs?!"

"Of course not! I know my Tallest would never be into something so...kinky," Zim said, nodding vigorously with his antennae flattened, thinking nervously of all the Irken/Vortian videos he had stored on his computer back on Earth...

"Purple wants to make me sound like some kind of pervert, does he?" Red growled. "Well, I can outdo that..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_'Tallest Purple Destined to Destroy the Universe?!'_"

"Well, that _is _overdoing it a bit," Tak agreed.

"According to an anonymous tip, the Control Brains issued a warning at Tallest Purple's birth that, and I quote, 'Based on genetic and PAK scans, we estimate that Smeet Purple could be a serious danger to Irk and the very universe itself, should he ever be given a position of power,'" the news drone said, oblivious to Purple's strangled protests. "We are also receiving word that Tallest Purple has had his Brain-Issued Birth Record put under top security codes in order to prevent this information from becoming available. We turn now to Irken Birth Facilities Control Brain for his input."

"_Where did they even come up with something like THAT?!_" Purple screamed, throwing up his hands in frustration.

"My guess? _Zim's _birth record," Tak said dryly. She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm...we'll need something big to outdo this..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"_'Too old to be Tallest?!' _I'm the exact same age as him!"

"Aren't you a few seconds older?"

"Few seconds--_I don't know! _I was a little busy having a PAK fused to my spine, I wasn't paying attention to what else was going on!" Red threw his tray of curly fries to the ground. "Zim! We need more horrible lies!"

"Yay!" Zim squealed, and ran off gleefully to concoct them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"My middle name is _not _'Lard Nar!' What's a 'middle name,' anyway?"

"Earth concept. Obviously Zim. Don't worry, my Tallest, we have more."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Okay, so yeah, I own a bunch of palaces. But news flash! I own them all with _Purple! _He and I have the same number of palaces. They're even _the same _palaces, for Irk's sake! ER! Zim, write this down--"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I did _not _attend a Resisty training camp as a smeet! That doesn't even make sense! The Resisty wasn't founded until after Operation Impending Doom II began! Red and I went to the Academy _together!_"

"I bet he got the better grades, though," Tak muttered.

"Shut up! Just go think up another rumor!"

"But, my Tallest, honestly, I'm running out of ideas--"

"Just do it!"

She sighed. "Fine..."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"...causing Tallest Purple to gain a huge lead in the latest polls. But is it true? _Could _Tallest Red really be a Slor-beast wearing an Irken mask? We go to eminent Scientist Skoomoogidy for his opinion."

"See, I _told _you that was a good idea," Zim said, crossing his arms moodily over his chest.

Red ground his teeth, glaring at the screen, and without looking threw his soda at Zim. "Shut up," Red muttered, as he began to think up new stories to tell.

* * *

Try to figure out what each rumor is supposed to be based on. Virtual cookies to whomever guesses right.

I hope you enjoyed this, and I'll update this soon...along with all my other stories. Oy. In any event, please leave reviews, and see you soon! Or...whatever.


	5. Room With a Who?

Nobody got any of the parodies from the last chapter? The idea was that each was based on a rumor of either Obama (Purple) or McCain (Red), with an _Invader Zim_ twist. Here are the story rumors, the real rumors and the facts about the rumors:

--Purple is really a member of the Resisty--Obama is really a radical Muslim. (False, though many family members are Muslim.)  
--Red was not born in Irk, can't be Tallest--McCain was not born in USA, can't be president. (Semi-true, though he is still qualified to be president.)  
--Purple eats instead of visiting Irken troops--Obama does promotional photos instead of visiting troops. (False, though he once had to skip a planned meeting for scheduling reasons.)  
--Red has eggs with Vortian--McCain has black love child. (False, possibly based on his adopted Bangledeshi daughter.)  
--Purple destined to destroy universe--Biblical prophecy points to Obama as Antichrist. (He has the charisma thing, but most of the supposed "prophecies" you'll read justifying this are made up.)  
--Purple's middle name is "Lard Nar"--Obama's middle name is "Hussein." (That one's true.)  
--Red has a lot of palaces--McCain has a large number of houses. (Also true.)  
--Purple attended "Resisty training camp"--Obama attended radical madrassa. (False; he attended a secular school in Indonesia.)  
--Red is really a Slor-beast--based on my own bizarre thinking. (True, my thinking is bizarre.)

My biggest regret is that I couldn't figure out how to stick Jeremiah Wright in there...

Anyway, that's all really long and gives away my secrets, but...yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Five  
A Room With a Who?

I couldn't believe it, but I was actually about to die.

I stood, cowering in front of the rest of the class, in the seemingly endless white void, staring up in horror at the giant, murderous Moose standing before me. The remains of the skool-bus-cum-spaceship were behind us, broken and twisted from the crash into the Room. Even if I could have figured out how to fly it, there was no way it could have taken us out. We were trapped, alone, defenseless...with the _Moose._

Zim had been clever, more clever than I had given him credit for. It never occurred to me that he would try the same ridiculously weird plan twice. He had been more clever this time--waited for an actual field trip instead of just making one up, used a more normal-looking bus with a fake robotic driver. We'd already been too far into the wormhole before I realized what was really going on, and there had been no time to find a way out before we had entered the Room.

"Do something!" Zita screamed, hands on my shoulders, shaking me. Oh. _Now _I was supposed to be able to come up with a plan. Every day I try to warn them of some weird evil plan Zim had concocted, every day I got mocked and ridiculed, but _now _that something freaky was definitively happening, it was up to Dib to solve the problem. It was infuriating, really. Though to be honest I was actually too busy trying not to wet myself to be all that annoyed.

The Moose lowered its head, snorted hot, stinking moose-breath from its nostrils and pawed the ground. Its mouth twisted into a growl. We let out a collective scream as it rushed forward, hooves raised in the air, antlers ready to stab through us--I lowered my head, screaming, everybody else in the class behind me--

When suddenly, out of nowhere, a woman with hunting gear thrown on over a business suit jumped forward, shotgun in hand, and fired.

_BANG! BANGBANGBANG!_

The Moose let out a cry of pain, stumbled, and fell in a bloody puddle on the pristine, glowing white ground. All the kids gaped in amazement as the woman removed the equipment from her face, moving back a bit of hair into the tight bun on her head.

"Ooh! That's a big one," she said; her voice matched neither her business suit nor her gigantic rifle, but was thick, a bit nasally, and sounded vaguely Canadian. She looked up at us. "You kids alright, now?"

I gaped, sputtered, looking from her to the giant dead moose corpse. Finally I looked up again and managed to stutter, "Who are you?!"

"Oh, I'm Alaska governor Sarah Palin."

I raised an eyebrow. "Who?" I had never heard of her before.

"Ah, don't worry about it. Let's just fix up that bus and get you kids home now. But first, anybody want to go see a hockey game?"

"I love hockey!" someone yelled. A general cry of joy came up from my classmates. _This _kind of weird they took better than I did.

Sarah Palin managed to fix up the bus in a matter of minutes and flew us back through Zim's wormhole to our own universe, and then took everybody out to a hockey game and Bloaty's afterward. It was, I had to admit, a very weird experience, though everybody else absolutely loved Sarah Palin, and she was all anybody could talk about the next day at skool--including Zim, who was furious to discover that we had all survived his plan, and even more furious when he heard of this mysterious "Sarah Palin" that everyone was so enthusiastic about. He proceeded to badmouth her all day long, and while some of his arguments did make some sense ("What experience does this hyuman pit-bull-woman have in flying interdimensional space-buses anyway?!"), eventually his rants became so long and downright mean ("stupid lipstick-pig!") that the whole class got angry and starting throwing random meats at him from inside their desks, which caused him to run around the room screaming to everyone's delight.

It was, in short, the best day of my life, until Ms. Bitters got so annoyed by the disruptions she yelled that anybody who mentioned Sarah Palin again would get thrown into the Underground Classrooms to calculate pi for the rest of time. As the class quieted down and she resumed her seat, I could have sworn I heard her mutter, "And that could have been Sissy, too..."

* * *

Ah, poor Ms. Bitters' unnamed, thinly-veiled-parodic sister.

Okay, so, I don't know when (or if) I'll update this story again, depends on the news and my ideas. Please be on the lookout for my other stories, and please leave reviews. Precious, precious reviews..._heeee, gollum gollum..._


	6. Height to the Chief

I also considered "Hail Tall the Chief," but decided this title was better. And you know, I probably could have made this a one-shot to stand on its own, since there's nothing specific about this election in it...but I didn't. Ah well. I think more people will wind up reading it this way.

Okay, so, the election is in one week, and you can expect a few updates until then, I think. But I am swamped. To readers of "Death of the Dib"---sorry, I don't think I'm going to make the Nov. 1 deadline I set for myself. And sorry to leave you "Dib in the PITS" readers waiting, too. This and my Halloween fic are the urgent ones, then I'll get back to those. Oy. And homework...

* * *

Chapter Six  
Height to the Chief

_"And another thing that's stupid about your stupid species, Zim! __You base your whole society on height! What a stupid thing to choose your leaders on!"_

These words rang in Zim's mind as he sat at his computer, gazing out at the delicious datas as they shone before him on the screen. He had begun his research into the hyuman leaders' heights in order to mock them, to laugh at the idea of a species with such short and _pitiful!_ leaders and then throw this information right back in the Dib-monster's face the next time he dared to insult the dignity of his Tallests!

But now he had discovered something shocking.

It was all a lie.

Earth's entire leadership was based on height too.

It was an amazing discovery, but it was amazingly true. Just about every Presidentman that the hyumans had elected was tall, and almost always they were taller than the one they had been running against. In sixty-five percent of the cases, in fact, the people elected the taller of the candidates. And their tallest Presidentman in history was the one they most revered.

Zim grinned to himself. He had a whole new way to mock the Dib-monkey now. These Earth leaders, he now saw, were geniuses---much clever than he had figured, brilliant in their deceptive abilities. The hyumans believed themselves to be the ones who ruled over their leaders, believed they could pick them themselves and choose their own fates. In reality the tall leaders had them duped---they knew that they would always be the ones in power, that they could exclude the short ones without any being the wiser (given how unwise they were, after all). Just like with the Irkens, the tall ones were smarter, cleverer, all-around-better-er than their short ones...but they had tricked the short ones into not realizing it, into simply not noticing the height as a factor.

How the Dib-hyuman would cry when he had _that_ little illusion shattered, hee-hee-hee! Especially given how short he was, what with his..._twelve-ness_ and all.

"But wait," the Computer said, when Zim had explained his discovery to it, "Isn't the current Presidentman, like, really short? Like, barely taller than you? And wasn't the guy he ran against taller than he was?"

"Eh. Details!" Zim cried, with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then he rushed off to shove his news down the Dib-monkey's throat.

* * *

For the record, sixty-five percent of presidential elections where the candidates' heights are known ended with the taller one receiving the popular vote. And, as in Zimworld, the current president is an exception---John Kerry is taller than President Bush. (As is Al Gore, but that goes back to the popular vote thing.) Abe Lincoln was the tallest president, and polls have shown him to be the favorite. (I think.)

Obama is taller than McCain. For what little that is worth.


	7. One Letter, Big Difference

_AGH! _The election is tomorrow! Which means I not only have to be worried about whether or not (insert candidate I support) will win and how I'll deal with that one relative who's going be _really _annoying in his differing political opinions, but also that I have to update this fic quick! Another chapter coming after this one in the next twenty-four hours...hopefully. Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Seven  
One Letter, Big Difference

"_Ahem. _Hello, students. We have a special little treat for you all today. With the upcoming presidentmanial election this Tuesday, we thought we'd hold a little debate for you all to help you understand the important issues our country is facing at this time. And so, to help us out, please welcome two of our brightest young students, Dib and Zim."

There was a splattering of desultory applause mixed with boos as the two took the podiums on the stage.

"_Ahem. _Thank you, Mr. Elliot. Um...hello, everyone. Uh, for those of you who don't know me, my name is Dib, and I---"

"_You suck!_"

"...Thank you, Gaz. _Ahem. _My name is Dib Membrane, and since they told me I actually have to pick a _viable_ candidate...not that Kucinich still couldn't win...I'm here today to support Sen. John McCain for presidentman in tomorrow's election."

"_McCain sucks!_"

"Um, Gaz, I really must ask you to stop interrupting your brother."

"Meh. Whatever." And she returned to her Game Slave, ignoring the debate.

"Thank you, Mr. Elliot. Um, I'm supporting John McCain because he has a lot of war experience, and this country needs a good strong military leader right now. Especially because of all the _threats_ we're facing right now from _certain people_ posing a _danger_ to our country and it's _freedoms._"

"Hey, why do you keep jabbing your finger at---oh, _very _funny, Dib-stink!"

"Zim, wait your turn!"

"Um, actually, Ms. Bitters, if Dib is done with his opening statement, it _is _Zim's turn."

"Meh. Whatever." And she took out a Game Slave and began to ignore the debate.

"_Ahem._ Thank you, Mr. Elliot-man. Now heed my words, vile skool-drones, for I come this day to tell you of the new leader before whom you shall all soon bow! Unlike the foolish Dib-monkey and his precious 'Mic-Cane,' I choose to endorse a better, more worthy candidate---the great and powerful _Osama!_"

"_Ugh._" Dib let his face slide down to the podium, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, Osama. For you see, Osama is just the presidentman this vile stink-country needs right now. Osama is, admittedly, different than any presidentman we completely normal hyuman worm-babies have elected before, but that is because he is BETTER! Osama will bring much needed change to the way this country is operated. With Presidentman Osama, we shall---"

"_Obama, _Zim."

"_Hyeh?_"

"Oh-_BAH_-ma. Not _Oh-SAH-ma._"

"What?" Zim checked his paper. "No...it's Osama. I wrote it down right here."

"No, _Obama _is the one running for presidentman. _Osama_ is a radical Muslim terrorist who lives somewhere in a Pakistani cave."

"Yeah, I know. That's who I picked."

"You know, if you're _going _to pick the wrong candidate, Zim, you might as well get the name---wait, _what?_"

"That's who I'm endorsing. _Oh-SAH-ma._"

"...as in _BIN LADEN?!_"

"Yes."

"...Why would you do that?!"

Zim shrugged. "I thought he sounded cool."

There was a moment of stunned disbelief before Dib spun around. "Ms. Bitters! Zim's endorsing a terrorist mastermind for presidentman!"

"Whatever." She was distracted, trying to beat the boss to get to Level 9.

Elliot shuffled some papers. "Um, we're getting a bit disorganized here...Dib, would you like to make your first argument?"

"My first...uh...do I really have to debate him on this?!"

"Well, if it's so obvious that Zim is wrong, you shouldn't have a problem debating him!"

"But---"

"Shut up and start! Don't make me send you to the Dimension of Pain."

Elliot bent down towards the table. "She'll do it, too," he whispered, casting a terrified glance at her as she went back to her game.

"Uh...uh..." He shuffled his papers, still dazed from this sudden turn of events. "Okay. Well...to start with...uh..._it's Osama bin Laden, people!_ He blows things up for a living!"

"I know. Isn't he _great?_"

"_No he's not great!_"

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

"I believe we're getting off-topic again."

"Besides, bin Laden couldn't even _be _presidentman anyway! He's not a naturalized citizen!"

"Well your precious _McCain_ isn't a naturalized citizen either!"

"Yes he is!"

"No, he's not. I looked it up. He was born in some pitiful Earth-kingdom called Payn-ah-mah."

"_Ugh_---you mean 'Panama.' And he was born there on American territory to American parents!"

"Well, so was Osama!"

"_No he wasn't!_"

"He was born in that Af-gi-han-eye-stan place! That's been conquered by this Earth-country, right?"

"Conquered, like, seven years ago! But not made official territory! And he wasn't _even _born there! He was born in Saudi Arabia!"

"Oh whatever!"

"And plus he's a _terrorist!_"

"So?!"

"'So?!' That's kind of a big disqualification there, Zim!"

"Your head's a disqualification!"

"...That doesn't even make sense!"

"Your head doesn't make sense! And it's big!"

"_Hey! His head_ is _big!_"

"_No it's not__!_ Who said that?!"

"Yo' big-headed MAMA!"

"Why you little---!"

(BANGCRASHSLAMPOWTURKEYWHAM!)

"Kids, stop it, stop it! Ugh, this is the second time I've had to pull you two apart this week!"

"Lemme at 'im! Lemme at 'im!"

"Bin Laden-Zawahiri 2008!"

"SHUT UP!"

(BANGCRASHSLAMPOWTURKEYWHAM...AGAIN!)

"_Ugh!_"

"_Dah!_"

"Oh---Mr. Gershwin, come help me, please!"

(SCRATCHKICKELBOWPUNCHMONKEYCHEEZEIMPLODE!)

Door bangs open.

"Peace officers here! Get 'em!"

"Hey, no! Let me go!"

"Stop! _I AM ZIM!_"

"Ugh," Gaz said, looking up from her Game Slave as her brother and Zim were both dragged kicking and screaming off the stage. "Politics always turns so _ugly_ this time of year." And she promptly bent down and went back to her game.


	8. Endorsements of the Doomed II

Chapter Eight  
Endorsements of the Doomed II

Hey everyone! Happy Election Day! I'd remind you to go vote, but frankly, if you're not motivated about it enough to do it yourself, you shouldn't be doing it at all. Hence my displeasure at all those "get people to vote" initiatives. :-P

So, we've heard from a lot about the main characters' political opinions, but what about all those other weirdoes who populate the _Invader Zim_ universe? They matter too! No, really! So now, for your Election Day enjoyment, let's see who the rest of the _IZ _cast (and, just for fun, a few of my OCs) are supporting in this year's presidentmanial election!

**Zita**

_Hmph._ That McCain guy is old and groaty, and Obama? I mean, look at the size of his ears! That would be like electing Dib with his monster of a head! I'm voting for Nader.

(Soft cries in the distance: _"My head's not big...!"_

_"...Neither are my ears!"_)

**Keef**

Well, my parents are voting for McCain. He's a war hero, you know! That's so cool! He's all brave and smart and stuff. But...well, Obama seems _really nice,_ too, so...oh, I don't know! Can I vote for _both _of them? Or...what if we can get all the Obama supporters and all the McCain supporters to come together and just be friends? Then they can _both_ be the presidentman, and then we can all be happy, and go ice skating, and spin around until we get dizzy, and...

**The Letter M**

You know a black man who _isn't_ for Obama?

**Minimoose**

_Squeak!_

**Ms. Bitters**

Voting for McCain is voting for four to eight more years of the _DOOMED _policies that created our present misery and chaos. However, voting for Obama is merely voting for four to eight years of_ new DOOMED_ policies, just as _DOOMED_ as our current ones. _DOOM! DOOM! **DOOM!**  
_

**Mr. Elliot**

Oh...I really shouldn't give my opinions about this sort of thing. I'm a teacher. It's not my place.

What's that? ...I'm still wearing my "Obama-Biden" badge? Oh...heh-heh...how embarrassing...

**Professor Membrane**

Oh, I try not to involve myself in politics. Too trivial a concern for a great scientist like me! But I would support anybody willing to lighten up a bit of the restrictions on some research I've been working on. Maybe the current administration is to _BLIND _to see the importance of Ultra-Toast, but I can't let something like _human rights standards _get in the way of my progress! A few radioactive butter burns never hurt anyone! Now pass me that uranium!

**Almighty Tallest Red**

Well, the McCain seems smarter, but---wait, which one's taller? ...Oh. That's a toughy, then...

**Almighty Tallest Purple**

Um, I'll just go with Red. He's usually better at this sort of thing. Who did he say?

**Skoodge**

Oh, I kind of like that McCain guy. He's a good military commander, and stuff, right? That's always good, and...oh, wait. What did the Tallests say?

**Tak**

Oh, what difference does it make in the end? Neither will be able to stop me the next time I plan to take over this pathetic puny dirt-ball from Zim and conquer it in the name of the Irken Armada! Pick whomever you want. I'll trounce them both.

**MiMi**

...

**Bill**

Me? I'm voting for McCain...don't trust this Obama guy, no, not one bit. Think about it. Talks that good and looks so great, but with ears that size? He's clearly some sort of _hypnotic demon-elf_ setting the stage for their invasion of the surface world, but I won't have it! He'll get his hands on my precious mushrooms when hell freezes over!

**Torque**

Isn't that Schwartzenegger guy running?

**Gretchen**

Oh, uh, I don't know. Um...wh-which one did Dib say he was supporting?

**Zim's Computer**

Um...Obama. I guess. Frankly I don't care. Now stop interrupting my game of Solitaire.

**Infinite Energy Absorbing Blob**

GRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!

(Roughly translated: "I need more time to consider their economic policies and how they would affect the overall financial market, especially in the areas of banking and mortgages. And of course energy. Delicious, delicious energy..._GRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!_")

**Peggy (OC from "Dib in the PITS")**

Obama! I like him. He's so cool, and I really think this policies on health care are good because blah blah blah blah...(blathers on for the next twenty minutes).

**RODGER (OC from "Dib in the PITS")**

...McCain.

(Peggy: "Oh! You _would_ vote for him!")

**Jack (OC from "Dib in the PITS," "The Screwball Letter" and "Tricked-or-Treated")**

EUGH! MY TOENAILS! _MY TOENAILS!_

(Ehr...I think that means Obama.)_  
_

**Mike (OC from "Death of the Dib")**

_Such inconsequential matters as to which of those two moronic figures you humans pick to run your meaningless little lives are of no importance to me and my concerns. Incidentally, JoeMerl, when _are_ you going to update my story? You said the hiatus would end November 1...your fans are waiting._

_

* * *

_I know, **Mike.** I know. I'll get to either it or "PITS" soon, still not sure which will happen first...

Well, unless I have some sort of burst of inspiration, this will probably be the last update until January 20...Inauguration Day seems a good time for the final chapter of this tale, eh? ;-) Well, it's all in God's hands now. Anyway, please leave a review, including, if you so choose, who you're supporting/who you think I am (I'm still not telling, nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh-nyeh). Thanks in advance!


	9. Inauguration Day

Happy Inauguration Day! This should be the last story for this fic, in honor of the very end of the election. For the record, had the election gone the other way, I would have done this same basic chapter with the two sides reversed. (Although I think the McCain version might have involved Crab People...or something, I can't remember.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nine  
Inauguration Day

As the crowds assembled before U.S. Capitol cheered wildly in anticipation, one small boy scowled, arms crossed over his chest, a McCAIN-PALIN button still stubbornly attached to his coat, muttering darkly under his breath.

"Dib, shut it," Gaz growled, completely ignoring her surroundings in favor of the Game Slave in her hands. "Let it go."

"Never!" Dib snapped, crossing his arms sullenly. "I just know this is going to end badly, Gaz. Democratic administrations never take a strong enough stand against evil alien forces. That's why we were losing the Space Race before Nixon, you know."

Gaz paused for a moment, considering pointing out any of the numerous logical flaws in that statement, then shook her head and went back to fighting the Nos-pork-atus in her game.

"_Oh my gosh! There he is!_" someone screamed, pointing at the stage.

"It's him!"

"Oh my gosh!"

"Let's worship him!"

The crowd burst into applause as Barack Obama came up onto the stage. Dib's scowl deepened as people began to cheer, scream, dance or perform small animal sacrifices in his honor. The new presidentman held up his hands for silence, and the crowd slowly died down.

"He's about to talk!"

"I LOVE IT WHEN HE DOES THAT!"

The presidentman waved his hands again, and the crowd finally quieted.

"My fellow Americans---"

"WHOO! He said 'my fellow Americans!'"

"That means us! WHOO!"

The crowd burst into furious applause again. Dib raised his eyebrow. "Okay, am I the only one who thinks this enthusiasm is a _little_ much?"

"I think _all_ enthusiasm is a little much," Gaz muttered, ignoring the historic event before her while wondering vaguely if there was any reason she and Dib were actually there, other than as a way to advance the plotline, of course.

"---we stand today on the cusp of historic change. And hope. And hopeful change. And changeful hope. And hopey-changey-hope-change. And changey-hopeful-change-hope. And hope-ity-changey-hopey-_ATTACK MY IRKEN ARMADA! MWA-HA-HA-HA-HA!_"

"What?!" Dib cried out, drawing back as the crowd burst once again into thunderous applause.

Suddenly out of the sky, a huge fleet of Irken warships appeared, with a downright _Massive_ one flying right over the Capitol dome. Obama threw back his head and laughed. "Foolish hyumans! Little did you realize that your beloved O-bam-ma was actually---"

Barack Obama's chest suddenly burst open, revealing a small green alien sitting in the middle of a high-tech robotic suit. "---_THE AMAZING ZIIIM!_"

Dib gasped. "Zim! I _knew_ it!"

"No, you didn't," Gaz said, one eyeball jutting open wider.

"Er---sure I did. I just---didn't mention it to you."

"That's not possible and you know it."

"Yeah, I know," he muttered, looking down at the ground. Then he suddenly looked up. "Wait, I thought _Tak_ was Obama..."

The crowd, apparently oblivious to the fact that their beloved presidentman had just revealed himself to be an evil alien warlord, continued to cheer wildly. Zim raised a nonexistant eyebrow, then shook his head. "Eh. Whatever. Anyway, foolish hyumans! Prepare for your precious cap-it-al to be annhilated by the mighty power of the Irken Armada!"

"Not so fast!"

Just then, people screamed and parted as a moose rode through the crowd, ridden by none other than John McCain and Sarah Palin.

Dib gasped. "John McCain and Sarah Palin!" he cried (a bit unnecessarily, but then he can't read the narration).

"That's right, large-headed American child," John McCain said, jumping off the moose and suddenly brandishing a glowing red lightsaber (ignoring Dib's cry of "my head's not big!"). "And we're here to put a stop to this evil alien and his world-domination plans!"

"Yeah!" Palin cried. She jumped up to stand on the moose's back, pulled out two lightsabers and did an impressive backflip through the air to make a dramatic glowing stand by John McCain's side. "Let's showing this here alien how we stopping him are!"

Everybody in the immediate vicinity blinked and turned to her with raised eyebrows. She dropped her dramatic stance a bit and rolled her eyes. "Alright, alright, I'm not a great talker," she admitted. "Let's just be gettin' to the killin' here, eh?"

"Er---right," John McCain agreed, taking up his pose again and pointing at Zim/Obamabot. "Your plan ends here, alien!"

"Oh, you think so? Well, can your military background and inexplicable Jedi powers hold up against my_ army of robotic donkeys?!"_

Two trap doors opened on either side of him, and suddenly half a dozen robots jumped into viwe, laser eyes glowing.

Dib blinked. "Zim...those are ostriches."

Zim waved his hand airily. "Oh, ostriches, donkeys, what's the difference? Anyway..._ATTACK!_"

John McCain put his arm to his mouth and began to speak into his wristwatch. "Duncan, this is McCain. We need **DUMBO**, stat!"

"Deploying **DUMBO,**" came the reply from the RNC.

Suddenly the ground began to open---people scattered, as out of a huge hole emerging in the earth came a massive robotic elephant, which reared back and let out a roar, fire streaming from its trunk. **DUMBO**---the **D**irigible for the **U**nder**m**ining of **B**arack **O**bama---began to activate its weapons systems, eyes glowing red.

"_ATTACK!_" Zim screamed.

"_TO WAR!_" Palin shouted.

And then the battle erupted. The robotic ostriches attacked the **DUMBO** with all of their might, but barely affected it reared up and shot lasers from its trunk at the Irken ships as they flew down to attack. The crowds scattered as beams of energy shot every which way, robots stampeded, and a giant fish in a bear suit appeared out of nowhere and started to smash the Washington Monument into everything like a club.

Dib watched all the action with a wide mouth, then closed it, turning to his sister, who played her game silently as if nothing were happening. "You know what, Gaz? Politics is stupid."

"Took you long enough to figure _that_ out," she muttered.

And with that, the two siblings departed to McMeaties for dinner, leaving the armies to do battle across downtown D.C.

* * *

Whoo! There we go. Kind of thrown together quickly but I think it works well enough. That should be the end of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it, and thanks for reading. Best of luck to all of you and to the new President.

:-)

...Oh, by the way, I voted for McCain. Let the flames begin.


End file.
